My empty stomach grumbled again. I looked outside and saw food sellers preparing to sell under the shades of a mango tree, waiting eagerly for the bell to ring. The chattering women were unloading from their heads baskets, buckets and trays ladden with food. I watched as Mama Maandazi, as she was called by the children, lifted the lid off a red bucket filled with maandazi. The smell of the doughnut-like sweet bread with cardomons wifted through the naked casement windows, which hung by the hinges.
As if on a conspirancy to torture me, Mama Aisha lifted the kawa that was covering her basket full of vitumbua, the smell of rice cakes wifted through the windows and attacked me.
…from the wonderful short story “Imbeciles’ by Sandra Mushi – part of a collection she has shared with me – asante sana Sandra!